


A lovely boy, a rotten boy

by Mongruad



Series: Predilection verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Fingering, Bottom Tom Riddle, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Top Harry, Verbal Humiliation, sadist Harry, virgin Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongruad/pseuds/Mongruad
Summary: Tom Riddle falls asleep in professor Potter’s office. Professor Potter demonstrates why he shouldn’t be so careless.A little spin-off of a Predilection scene. Can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Predilection verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121189
Comments: 4
Kudos: 147
Collections: Some smut





	A lovely boy, a rotten boy

**Author's Note:**

> A little explanation of the setting if you read this as a standalone: Harry in accidentally time-travelled and is working as a Defence Professor. Tom Riddle is obsessed with him. 
> 
> This starts at the scene in which Harry offers Tom a cure for sleeplessness and Tom falls asleep in his office.

Tom slumps into the armchair and the darkened crystal slips from his finger into his lap. The curse has been fed. Harry rises from his seat, notes and diagrams forgotten. With quiet, careful steps he approaches the boy and takes a long look.

There is an expression on Tom’s face that rarely anyone sees. He tends to behave coy in Harry’s presence or mask his alienation with quiet studiousness. Now he seems calm, open. It’s yet another deception engineered with slack facial muscles and a loose lock of hair falling on his forehead. It’s done unconsciously this one time and so Harry can grant him forgiveness. He reaches gingerly to brush the curl away.

He won’t wake for some more time, Harry knows. And so he dares to touch him. The skin of Tom’s face is smooth and warm under the tips of his fingers, his cheekbones and jawline sharp edged. Only because no one will ever know about that, Harry caresses this dreadful boy’s lips - pliant, soft and pinkish. They are parted slightly and a puff of breath warms Harry’s fingers.

Tenderness is not something that Riddle deserves, decides Harry once again. He is to be punished and taught as Harry has already started to do. But as long as he sleeps, Harry is doing it only for himself, expressing it for himself.

He wishes to kiss these lips. As he is, he only strokes Tom’s brow ridge, his closed eyelids that are so soft under his fingers. Harry is set on blaming Tom for that he is lovely enough to produce this misplaced fondness in his heart.

Lingering wouldn’t do him any favours so he slips an arm under Tom’s thigh and gathers him up in his arms. The boy is a dead weight. It takes a swish of a holly wand to lighten the load and another one accompanied by a feeling of coldness flooding his guts to make them invisible.

It’s barely past curfew. By unspoken rule it’s too early for teachers or prefects to patrol corridors and so Harry passes only a few students hastily returning to their dorms. He descends to the dungeons, air turning cold and moist, Tom’s body pleasantly warm against his chest.

With a tap of his wand Harry opens the door to the Slytherin Common Room and slips inside unnoticed. Those who returned moments ago crowd the room, slowly finding places to rest with their friends, some starting to work on their homework or proposing a game of chess. This transition state works in Harry’s favour. He heads to the dorms unnoticed.

The walls are charmed to glow gently and so it’s never completely dark despite the lack of sunlight. It’s a blessing as he doesn’t need to light his wand to pass through unfamiliar corridors. At least as a teacher he knows more or less where to find bedrooms of any house and any year.

The dorm is empty when he enters. With a push of his heel the door shuts closed and the noise from the common room is cut off. Which bed belongs to Tom?, he wonders.

He takes his time to look around curiously, carefully. Years have passed since he has been a student himself and shared a dorm with other boys. There is a tear in one of the curtains, a colorful piece of nightgown spilling from under a pillow to the floor. There is a pot burping rainbow bubbles, a desk adorned by pulverulent human skull that could serve for some silly divination and a shelf filled with various magazines.

One part of the room is particularly orderly. Or maybe it’s a wrong thing to call it - because it’s empty. At the foot of the bed stands a worn down trunk. It should be a cue for Harry because it doesn’t look like it could belong to any of the Slytherin purebloods. On the desk stands a pile of books. All of them marked as borrowed from Hogwarts library. There is a piece of parchment half filled with herbology notes and a closed bottle of ink in the corner. 

Harry inches closer to this  bed and lays Tom on the  covers  gently. The boy is so tall that he barely fits the bedstead, his feet maybe an inch away from the mattress’ edge. Harry takes Tom’s shoes off, uncovering long feet clothed in white socks. 

He wants to steal a look under the sheets, see what a boy like Tom would keep under his pillow or in the drawers. He smothers this silly wants and contents himself with climbing on the bed himself and drawing curtains closed.

Creaking of the bed and Tom’s breath are only noises that reach Harry’s ears, all other sounds significantly damped by heavy curtains. Only a thin strip of light falls on Tom’s face. With eyes wide open to see in the darkness and pupils blown, Harry sits on the side of a sleeping boy’s bed and feels guilt. Gently he reaches to stroke Tom’s flank.

The line he shouldn’t cross has been crossed the moment he gathered Tom in his arms. If he was an honest man he would let Tom nap in his office’s armchair, he would let the boy leave after he woke instead of trapping him in his own bed.

Harry moves closer to him and stretches his legs. They lie face to face, unbearably close. As Harry leans in, letting himself sniff along Tom’s throat, he explains that away easily - it’s difficult to respect personal borders in such cramped space. Propriety is a concept that withers when no one looks.

He inhales. The air close to his body seems warmer thanks to body heat. Tom’s scent is earthy - like all bodies tend to smell - with bitter and sweet tones Harry can’t even try to name. He wishes to recognize them and put labels on every nuance - so he breathes in again, his nose touching Tom’s neck and then his collarbone as he parts a collar of his shirt, the first button coming undone easily.

Something cold touches his face. He moves away to take a look. Gently he reaches under Tom’s collar and grasps a fine, golden chain. He lifts it up and a small pedant catches his eye. It’s T shaped with a hunched figure attached to the mount by its back. A crucifix. He blinks in shock and lets it slip from his fingers, gold that seemingly shouldn’t find its way into orphan’s hands glinting gently as it spills on Tom’s barred collarbone. Was it gifted to Tom at the orphanage? Or maybe at Hogwarts?

_ Who did you steal that from?, _ was a question that would be expected. He would never know who gifted it to Tom and why the wizard so fixated on his might decided to ever wear such jewellery.

It’s warm, almost cosy as they lie huddled together. Harry smooths Tom’s outer robe. It’s black color is already a bit washed out, the material soft from use. Harry notes with detachment how clean it is and with a perfect badge and Slytherin’s crest sewed on with a careful hand. Did the boy stitch it himself?, thinks Harry as he takes to unbuttoning the robe.

Button after button being undone a blue shirt is revealed. A moment later Harry sees a leather belt keeping dark slack secured on these narrow hips. Tom is something to be looked at, acknowledges Harry in his thoughts as he admires these long, slim legs. It’s no wonder his robe is too short to entirely cover them.

Harry puts his palm flat on the concave of Tom’s stomach. He feels strong muscle, body heat seeping through the shirt and fall and descent accompanying Tom’s even breaths. He toys with the waistband of Tom’s pants. The belt is too tight to slip fingers underneath and so Harry unclasps it without much hesitation.

Harry doesn’t want to waste this sight and so he creates a sphere of light. It hangs in the air emitting a warm glow.

It’s incredibly wrong of him to put his hands under Tom’s garments, to follow a course path of hair starting just below the sleeping boy’s navel. Harry shudders, teeth clamping on his lower lip, as his blood rushes south. It’s as exciting as it’s wrong.

Harry presses closer, his lips almost brushing Tom’s face and puffs of breath tickling his nose. A slurred “Professor?” makes him fist Tom’s shirt. “Professor Potter?” Tom blinks at him slowly, sleepily.

“Yeah,” murmurs Harry with a tight throat. He looks intently at Tom’s face while he strokes the boy’s chest, stomach and then groin. There is not a trace of fear in answer, no tension.  _ Oh _ , thinks Harry. Tom arches slightly into his touch, lifts his hips to chase Harry’s fingers.

And Harry stops the gesture exactly there with his hand barely touching Tom’s clothed bits. Through the thin material of the slacks it’s easy to feel a twitch of an eager cock. Just like that tightness in Harry’s throat is gone and he can inhale. A smell of musk carried by heated air fills his lungs.

“You are a very eager boy,” says Harry lowly. With a single finger he strokes Tom’s cock barely putting any pressure into the caress. His nail scrapes the material. He drinks in the sight of Tom’s lips parting, he listens to the barely audible gasp. “More than I would think,” he carries on and strokes again just as lightly as before.

Tom arches his back, trying to chase these fingers, trying to make them touch him properly. Every time Harry pulls away. “Are you teasing me, sir?” he asks breathlessly.

It causes a slight upturn of Harry’s mouth. “Maybe I do.” Tom’s cock twitches insistently when Harry scrapes the cloth covering it. And Harry decides to own it. With a sure hand he grasps it tightly making Tom groan. “Or maybe I am giving you a taste of how I am going to treat you.” Forcefully he flattens the stiff length against the boy’s stomach. Then he props himself up. He hovers above Tom’s body, his knee slotted between the boy’s thigh, their lips so close they can share a breath.

“I would love to have a taste of you, sir,” breathes Tom and licks his lips.

Harry follows the movement of this pinkish tongue with his eyes. It’s covetous. It’s forbidden. He shouldn’t wish to suck it. And yet when Tom arches into him and steals a kiss, Harry takes it in greedily. 

Harry cradles Tom’s face, the boy's cheeks heated under his palms. A lascivious swipe of tongue - on his teeth, on Tom’s lips, inside their oral cavities - feels like a prelude to utter devouring. They part - with a strand of saliva connecting their swollen lips - and they smash together.

He thinks deliriously that it would be so lovely to devour this boy. To have him consumed whole. To have him owned and contained. This way the boy wouldn’t have to be punished.

But even now, when Harry tastes him and caresses him, when Tom claws at his hips to bring their groins together, Harry fears that it’s not meant to be. As lovely as Tom is at the moment he can’t be kept like he is now.

With the belt already unbuckled it’s easy to yank Tom’s slacks down. His underwear follows close behind. Flushed cock springs free and slaps against Tom’s stomach.

Harry slaps his hands away, when the boy reaches to open Harry’s robe. “No,” he says.

“Why?” asks Tom with a pout. His lips ask to be bitten like that - and Harry does exactly that. The boy gasps and bucks under him unheeding of the hand pinning his hips down ruthlessly and denying him any friction.

“You are a seducer,” says Harry. “Can’t give you too much free reign.”

Tom laughs breathlessly “Was it me who lured you into my bed?”

“Can’t see anyone else here,” snarks Harry and punitively bites into Tom’s neck. He licks and kisses marks he leaves behind. The boy writhes under him and Harry simply must pull back to admire his work - Tom’s eyes half-closed in pleasure, at love-bites littering his skin. Tom’s cock - long and slightly curved toward his belly - has already started to drool over his crumpled shirt.

Tom follows his gaze intently. “Touch me, sir,” he demands. 

It’s only hungry gleam in his eyes that convinces Harry to not deny him any longer. He grips the boy’s cock none too gently and is rewarded with a throaty groan. “So responsive,” comments Harry, tugging it.

Tom displays himself for him. His thighs are splayed wide, his eyes never straying away from Harry, a stained shirt rolled up to his ribs. And Harry simply can’t reign the urge in and leans in to kiss Tom’s stomach when he sees him like this. With a free hand he unbuttons the shirt. “Take this off,” he rasps, his mouth brushing against the skin as he talks.

There is a spell he needs to cast before proceeding any further and so he unsheathes his holly wand.

“What are you doing?” asks Tom. He throws his shirt to the side. His chest is bare now and flushed pink.

“Cleaning you up. Lubricating,” explains Harry curtly. It’s obvious when the spell takes effect because Tom makes a very discomfited expression and winces.

Then Harry lays down comfortably between Tom’s thighs. He grabs the boy’s ass and squeezes and brings his hips closer so he can kiss the point where a hip bone shows. 

“Sir…” starts Tom shakily when Harry touches the cleft of his ass. “Are you sure you want to touch me there…?” His voice tapers off.

This makes Harry stop in his tracks. He gives Tom a careful look. “Yes,” he says gingerly. “Shouldn’t I touch your ass? Your butt crack? Anus?”

Tom’s face is bright red. “I am not really sure,” he says quietly.

And so Harry is forced to ask furter. “Were you told that your butt shouldn’t be touched?” He rests his chin on the boy’s thigh. When Tom nods, Harry pries again “And has no one ever touched you there?”

“No,” Tom shakes his head and swallows audibly, “I didn’t…” He doesn’t finish in his embarrassment.

_ A virgin _ , Harry thinks in stricken wonder. Ginny certainly wasn’t a virgin when she started to date him. But then he shouldn’t even be thinking about the woman that several years in the future first married him and then divorced. She was lost to him the moment he tumbled into the past, a wedding band his only reminder.

What he has instead is a young dark lord at his mercy. A rotten boy. A lovely boy, looking at him with apprehension and desire at once. It’s not the kind of fear that Harry enjoys. 

“It’s alright, Riddle,” he says soothingly. “Don’t tense your muscles and it can feel as nice as touching your cock.” 

An odd expression that twisted Tom’s face when Harry said  _ Riddle _ vanishes once a finger teases his pucker. It flutters under the tips of Harry’s fingers, already wet from the spell.

He pushes the finger inside the same moment his mouth closes around Tom’s cock. There is an audible gasp and he strains his eyes to see the boy’s expression from his position. He thrusts his finger deeper and sucks in one rhythm. And Tom melts into that, soft moans spilling from his parted lips.

Harry scarcely stops himself from rutting against the mattress, his erection aching in the confines of his pants. He can’t wait to stick it in and so he pushes the second digit into Tom’s body. It’s unbearably hot and warm, tight like a glove.

A click of the door resounds and suddenly it’s so tight that Harry’s fingers feel positively stuck in the slippery channel.

“Shh,” urges someone Harry recognizes, one of Tom’s dormmates. “Can you get me these notes now?”

“If I can find them… Don’t want to ransack all my stuff at this hour,” answers the second person.

Tom is still and tense, his face almost white. “You are not a dream,” he utters in shaky whisper. “It’s not a dream,” he repeats and looks fearfully at drawn curtains. Heavy cloth is all that separates them from Tom’s roommates.

“Are you scared they will hear your whorish moans when I fuck you?” An unbidden smile transforms Harry’s face into an expression of cruel delight. 

Tom’s lips quiver a little at that. Harry drinks the sight in. “Will you cry if they find out that their upstanding Head Boy likes to spread his legs?” he asks mockingly and thrusts his fingers deeper into Tom’s ass.

The boy tries to muffle the resulting whimper with his arm.

“No,” says Harry, “none of that.” He pries Tom’s hand away and pins it to the mattress. “You will not cover your face.” 

He wants to see the effects of his deeds, the havoc he is wrecking in this boy right now, when in truth the silencing ward has already been set up at the time he lifted his wand last time. Obligation to be honest with himself is the last remnant of his moral principles that has dissolved over the years.

The boy trembles, torn between arousal and panic, when Harry gives his dick another lick. He teases its head with a tip of tongue and squeezes the balls. All the while they hear the rustling of two other boys getting ready for bed - completely unaware of things happening on their friend’s bed.

The tension seeps slowly out of Tom’s body as he gives into Harry’s ministrations. His eyes, that earlier didn’t stray away from Harry once, are squeezed shut, his expression pinched when he tries not to make a sound.

The dick plops out of Harry’s mouth. He props himself up and whispers straight into Tom’s ear “You truly are inverted, aren’t you?”. When Tom’s eyes widen and his cheeks redden in apparent shame, an unfamiliar feeling blooms in Harry’s chest. “Can you imagine what they would think of you, if they knew? How disgusted they would be with you - begging for a cock in the same room they sleep…” 

He relishes the full-body tremble his words result in. Harry drapes himself over Tom, chest to chest, so he can feel that better. He gives the boy a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss and rubs against him. He groans into that lovely mouth. 

The urge to speak, to humiliate doesn’t allow him to carry on for too long. “I shall stuff that whorish mouth of yours full to keep you quiet while I fuck you. You don’t want your roommates to hear you and take a look behind the curtains, do you?” A shark-like smile stretches his lips.

He imagines Tom shouting under a curse - no one would hear that but the boy would believe that for some reason they decided to ignore him. That they would look him in the eyes in the morning and knew.

Harry enjoys that little fantasy and thrusts his fingers in and out at a rapid pace. It’s too much at once to feel trembles of body and the punishing clamp of Tom’s sphincter. With a free hand Harry opens his pants and tugs and his cock. He pants against Tom’s neck.

“It… It hurts,” complains Tom with teary eyes, his voice choked. His attempt to push Harry away, to reach between his legs and stop Harry’s hand is weak.

“It’s supposed to be painful,” says Harry cruelly, his lips still glistening with Tom’s spit from their kiss. He grasps a pendant and yanks it, forcing Tom to bend his neck. “Didn’t they tell you how unnatural it is for men to share a bed?”

“They did,” mumbles Tom, turning his head away. He takes a moment to gather himself and say in a stronger voice “You are partaking with me willingly.” But he is wrecked, flushed, naked and trembling and his glare does nothing to discourage Harry. 

He earns a backhanded slap for his insolence anyway, Harry’s wedding band dragging across his cheek and leaving a darker mark. 

“Professor…!”

For a good measure Harry twists fingers sheathed in Tom’s ass, making the boy wince again. “Don’t pretend you dislike how I treat you now when we both,” his breath hitches, “know that’s what you deserve.” Tom whines. It's a high, pitiful sound. His eyes well with tears.

Harry bites into that trembling lower lip. He pulls his fingers out and the tears spill. He murmurs soft words of appreciation as he tastes them. “On your elbows and knees,” he orders. 

With a muffled sob Tom complies. He slowly positions himself on his fours, his ass on display for Harry, stiff cock bouncing slightly as he moves. There is a visible tremble in his thighs that somehow compensates his teary face being out of sight.

Harry shrugs his robe off - wearing it has been making him too hot for a while. He traces the visible line of Tom's spine before he drapes himself over the boy’s back, hugging him to his chest and reaching under his belly to caress his cock. “I will do something nice to you before I fuck you… but you must stay quiet,” he murmurs into Tom’s neck. “Will you? Or are you going to run that whorish mouth?”

In lieu of an answer Tom pushes his face into a pillow. It should be enough to muffle his noises, Harry decides and slides down until Tom’s ass is in front of his face. He spreads the boy’s arse cheeks and takes a dive. It results in a choked noise. He licks the darker skin of Tom’s pucker and the area surrounding it. He moves down to suckle his sack and then returns. It gives under his tongue way easier than under his fingers.

Soon he is able to slip it inside without much resistance. He tastes the boy and alternates between masturbating himself and Tom. His nose is filled with a smell of musk, a taste of clean skin and lubricant on his tongue. Little moans that Tom makes when Harry fucks him with his tongue go straight to the man’s groin.

“Touch me,” begs Tom, “I am so close…” His voice is husky, desperate. 

And this once Harry decides to give him some nice things and grasps Tom’s cock and works on it. The boy instantly thrusts into his fist, his pace uneven and quick. The smell of his arousal is heavy. And soon thick ropes semen spill onto Harry’s hand and the boy slumps down exhausted, his back curved.

For a moment Harry can only look at him mesmerised and listen how his breath still hitches. Then he snuggles to him from behind and with a murmured “What a dirty boy,” he sticks his soiled fingers into Tom’s mouth. “Lick them clean,” he says.

He needs to push them deeper between Tom’s lips, nudging his teeth, before the boy obeys. A tongue wipes the semen, curls around the digits and the boy sucks. The sensation travels straight to Harry’s groin. He presses himself closer with a sigh, his dick slotted between Tom’s arse cheeks.

He doesn’t wish to hold on any longer. And so he guides himself with a free hand to Tom’s opening and  _ pushes _ . It’s tight and hot and he is tormented by every inch of immersion until he is completely sheathed. 

It’s difficult to find his voice. He takes a calming breath. “Good boy,” he whispers, petting Tom’s back. He rocks himself in and out shallowly and the body under him trembles. “So lovely,” he praises. 

There is no response. Tom has hidden his face in the pillow, his shoulder no longer able to support his weight in this position. Harry takes this as an allowance and doesn’t halt the deep thrust. He murmurs meaningless words of encouragement all the while.

“Ah!” moans Tom, when Harry pushes particularly deep.

He resents how he can’t stop thinking. It would be lovely to enjoy this ass sucking him in, a sound of slapping skin. Tom no longer protests at the noise in fear of being heard, his body loose and Harry suspects the boy is out of it.

It would be perfect to keep him. The way he has sought Harry out after classes, the way he has looked at him whenever Harry was around - it would be almost natural to simply let him stay around.

Harry is tempted to own this boy who would one day become Voldemort. He has already engaged in teaching and punishing him at the beginning of the semester to satisfy his own idea of justice. Wouldn’t it be too selfish to take even more?

With a groan he throws his head back, glasses slipping low on his nose, and spills deep into Tom’s bowels. A feeling of bliss overwhelms him for a moment. A relief that comes after is much easier to deal with. 

He falls on the bed next to Tom. Exhaustion sets deep into his bones and so he tugs the boy close. He rests in this warm embrace, unbothered even by Tom’s gaze, by stickiness of their skin or stench of coupling. His limbs are too heavy and too loose for that.

Tom doesn’t say anything. As the minutes pass he hides his sweaty face in Harry’s equally sweaty chest. He curls close, his foot stroking Harry’s calf as he seeks a comfortable position.

***

“ _ Obliviate _ ,” utters Harry in the darkest hour of the night. He is ready to leave the room with none the wiser, to leave this lovely boy to rot and take his punishment. 


End file.
